


Day 1: Crash

by GemmaRose



Series: Prowl Week [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Concussions, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Head Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Waking up in medbay with an hour and a half of memory inaccessible is hardly Prowl's idea of a good time.
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl
Series: Prowl Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709728
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	Day 1: Crash

No sane mech enjoyed waking up in medbay. Waking up in medbay meant something had gone wrong, usually painfully, and depending on the what and why of it you might be getting written up. Prowl especially hated it, and he hated it even more when he couldn’t remember _why_ he was in there. His HUD was unnervingly empty, no damage reports despite the dull ache all throughout his frame, no pinging inbox or alerts for datawork he had to complete and turn in, even the ever-present scroll of data from his tacnet was gone.

“Good to see you back online.” Ratchet said from somewhere off to his side, and Prowl frowned at the effort it took to boot up his optics.

“What happened?” he mumbled, the glyphs slurring together as they left his vocaliser.

“I’ll tell you once I’m sure myself.” Ratchet promised, leaning over him and holding a hand just over his shoulder. Prowl pulsed assent through his field, and when Ratchet didn’t respond nodded his helm slightly. The medic pulled him upright, and after a moment to calibrate he was able to remain there unassisted as Ratchet started running basic non-invasive diagnostics. He was missing an awful lot of sensory data, most of his back and right side so numb he could barely tell they were there, but Prowl knew better than to look away from a medic currently testing him.

He followed the orders given to him, answered Ratchet’s questions honestly, and after a few minutes Ratchet straightened up with a heavy sigh, armour rippling in agitation. “In addition to your slagged arm and twisted doorwing, I can now say for sure that you’re concussed.”

Prowl checked his own apparent symptoms against the definition of a concussion in his processor, and the lag time in accessing his language center inclined him to agree. “What happened?” he asked again, because if he’d taken a knock to the helm bad enough to blank a chunk of his short term memory he’d like to at least know how it happened.

“According to Sideswipe, the two of you were in pursuit of some of the Stunticons when one of them managed to ram you from the side. _Somehow_.” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “I know you hate waking up with pain patches on, so I shut off all the sensors in the damaged area. That’s why you can’t feel your arm or back right now.”

“You got a bit more than just the arm.” Prowl remarked, and Ratchet held out a transdermal patch to him.

“Stick this on and I’ll get your sensors back online.” he ordered. Prowl obeyed, and the cool non-sensation that spread over his injured sections was as uncomfortable as ever, but still vastly preferable to not being able to feel his doorwings at all. He flicked the operational one, and grimaced at the pull on the hinge of the one opposite.

“Don’t make me put you under again.” Ratchet threatened, and even without the aid of his tacnet Prowl knew there was a vanishingly small chance of the CMO following through on that.

“Could you turn my HUD back on?” he asked, popping open his medical port. Ratchet brushed a hand over and shut the access panel again without even looking.

“No can do, Prowl.” he grinned, and Prowl keenly recalled everything he’d done in the last three months which would’ve angered Ratchet to find out about. Lagging as he was though, and without the aid of his tacnet, Prowl had only the barest idea which things Ratchet might’ve heard of. “You’re concussed, which means minimal screen exposure for the next thirty six hours.”

Thirty six Earth hours, or three cycles. The standard duration of what their human friends would call Cybertron’s ‘weekend’. This wasn’t a medical assessment, this was Ratchet trying to force him out of his office for a day and a half. “You can’t stop me from working.” Prowl argued, and Ratchet’s field turned decidedly smug as he patted Prowl on the shoulder.

“Maybe I can’t.” Ratchet conceded, pinging open the medbay doors to reveal Jazz, Smokescreen, and both twins. “But I’m sure one of them can.”

Sideswipe, at least, had the sense to look guilty. Prowl might not be able to recall exactly what had happened, but he was certain that him being hit this badly had been Sideswipe’s fault somehow. The way his bumper ached, even odds he’d pushed the daredevil out of harm’s way.

“Told you he’d be alright.” Sunstreaker chided, giving his twin a shove.

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Jazz asked, and Prowl’s expression slipped into a frown as his friend didn’t so much as extend his field in greeting.

“Aside from the obvious, he’s concussed.” Ratchet reported. “No screens for thirty six hours, and of course no transforming until he’s recovered enough to repair fully. I’m busy, so one of you will have to make sure he follows that.”

“I’ll handle it.” Jazz nodded, and Prowl winced as his doorwings instinctively rose in agitation. Or tried to, at least. Not even a pain patch could fully mute the sensation of misaligned metal yanking on sensitive wires.

“Hey, Prowler.” Jazz flashed him an easy grin, a talent of his Prowl had always envied. “Your gyros all in order?”

“Of course.” Prowl huffed, swinging his legs off the mediberth. Jazz’s field must be furled right down to his plating, rude slagger. “I can get back to my quarters on my own.”

“You heard the mech.” Jazz relayed to the others, who seemed more concerned with Sideswipe than with him. “Smokescreen, go tell Prime that Prowl’s down and out for the next three cycles. Doctor’s orders.”

“On it!” Smokescreen transformed and raced off, and the twins stayed behind in the medbay as Jazz followed Prowl out the door.

“I don’t need an escort.” he glared at Jazz, pushing _irritation exhaustion leave me alone_ through his field.

“No, but you’re gonna need company.” Jazz folded his arms behind his helm, his field still incongruously absent. “I can get the twins to swipe us a chess set from the rec room, if you want?”

“I _want_ to be left alone.” Prowl glared, pushing his field at Jazz more insistently. It was like the mech didn’t even register it.

“Prowl, I know you.” Jazz stretched his arms up, fingers interlaced and palms towards the ceiling. “The _second_ I leave you alone you’re gonna boot up your desk and try to get back to work.”

“I was going to take a nap, actually.” Prowl bit out, killing the motor for his injured doorwing so the other could flick in agitation.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that with a concussion either.” Jazz mused, and Prowl spotted the flicker of comms across the inside of his visor. his own comm suite wasn’’t disabled, but with his HUD down he couldn’t make any use of it. “Yeah, Ratchet says no recharge until your optic illumination equalizes.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Prowl snapped, turning on Jazz with a sharp lash of his field, left doorwing raised so high the injured one twinged.

“Hey, no need to freak.” Jazz held his hands out placatingly. Prowl made to swat them away, and Jazz caught his wrist easily, his field washing cool and calm over Prowl’s frame, wrapping him in gentle concern. “I’ll keep you company. Just like Nova Point, yeah?”

“You were the one who couldn’t move, that time.” Prowl huffed, doorwing still flicking in agitation. Apparently the only part of his processor _not_ lagging was the section devoted to his emotional subroutines, and with his tacnet down those were taking up more power than usual. Primus, this was going to be a long three cycles.

“Close enough.” Jazz shrugged, his hand shifting to wrap around Prowl’s more casually. Well, at least this time the most either of them had to worry about was annoying Ratchet.

**Author's Note:**

> For the first time in his functioning, Prowl loses at chess. Jazz is smug about it for weeks.
> 
> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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